In 1999, I was selected for a coveted Fellowship at the prestigious Indian Institute of Advanced Study in Shimla to work on my research project titled ‘Problems of Translation’. Nestled within the enchanting IIAS campus was my residence, the captivating Delvilla—an annexe that added an extra layer of attraction to my academic pursuits. This period of scholarly engagement and tranquil living at Delvilla became an important chapter in my academic journey, marked by the pursuit of knowledge and the serene surroundings of Shimla.
Upon my initial relocation to the “Delvila” building within the IIAS Campus in Shimla, I found myself completely unaware of the residents in the Villa directly above mine for quite some time. My routine consisted of leaving for the Institute in the morning and returning in the evening, without any initiative to discover the occupants of the neighboring unit above my flat.
One evening, to my surprise, Mr. Sood, the resident from the upstairs flat, knocked at my door and casually entered. With a friendly gesture, he placed his hand on my shoulder and remarked, “You’ve been residing in this flat for approximately three months now, haven’t you?” In response, I offered a brief confirmation, “Yes, that’s correct.” Mr. Sood, with an amused expression, exclaimed, “Remarkable! You never attempted to acquaint yourself with us. Brother, we are your neighbors living above you. Let’s share a meal together tonight.” Unable to decline his friendly invitation, I agreed to join him for dinner.
Mr. Sood lived with his family in a flat in the same apartment where I lived. Husband and wife, two daughters, and an elderly mother. The mother was over eighty years old, quite frail, with a bent back. The marks of time were evident on her face. Mr. Sood’s wife was a teacher at a government school. One daughter was studying in college, and the other was working with some reputed company. They all would affectionately call the elderly mother ‘Amma Ji,’ and I, too, started knowing and calling her by this name.
Dinner went on for a while, during which I got acquainted with Mr. Sood’s family. While Mr. Sood didn’t inquire much, his wife gathered detailed information about my family. Since my wife also works, it was not feasible for her to stay permanently with me at this new place. I made it clear, “My wife won’t be able to stay with me permanently for now. Occasionally, she might visit.” I felt that Mr. Sood and his wife were not as bothered by this revelation as his elderly mother. When I mentioned that my wife might stay with me occasionally, there was a visible sadness on Amma Ji’s face. Adjusting her thick glasses on her wrinkled face, she muttered something in her local language.
Months passed by, and during this time, I could sense that Amma Ji always seemed eager to talk to someone. I often found her sitting alone on the balcony of her flat, looking forlorn. Her eyes roamed around, searching for something, lost in the archives of old memories. One day, as I returned early from the office, I saw her and greeted her. She seemed pleased to see me, maybe hoping that I would engage in some kind of conversation with her. Once I did initiate a conversation, but I couldn’t do it every time. Talking to Amma Ji was challenging due to the language barrier as well.
One Sunday, I was reading a newspaper in my room. I heard a knock at the door and found Amma Ji standing there. She entered the room with her stick. Her breath was heavy, and as soon as she entered, she asked, “When will your wife come?”
Listening to Ammaji’s question, I became a little perplexed. I thought, “I have already told her that my wife is working, and she can come only when she gets leave, so why is she asking this again now?” Holding a glass of water for her, I replied, “Ammaji, she won’t be able to come right now. Yes, she will come for five- or six-days next month when she gets leave.”
Upon hearing my response, Ammaji seemed lost in some thought. After contemplating for a while, she spoke in broken language, “Alright, take me to the neighboring house. I’ll talk to Meher Chand’s wife there.” Offering support, I took Ammaji to the neighboring house. Throughout the way, she kept giving me blessings, wishing for a long and happy life.
As long as Mr. Sood and his wife would be at home, Ammaji didn’t go anywhere. The moment they would leave for work, Ammaji would wander around, sometimes in the balcony, sometimes downstairs, sometimes in the courtyard, and sometimes elsewhere.
One day, I didn’t go to the office due to feeling unwell. Around two in the afternoon, Ammaji knocked at my door. Her face indicated that something was bothering her. At that time, my wife was also with me. She had joined me for a few days. Entering the room, Ammaji said, “Beta, call the hospital and find out how Mr. Sood is doing and when will he come?” I already knew that Mr. Sood’s health had not been good for the past few days. He had a stiff neck and slight fever. However, I didn’t know that he was admitted to the hospital. Before I could say anything, Ammaji, in a sobbing voice, continued, “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Please find out.”
Facing an odd situation in front of me with no hospital name, phone number, or any other relevant information, how could I find out the whereabouts of Sood Sahib? In the meantime, Ammaji was deeply worried about her son. Sometimes standing up, sometimes sitting, sometimes crying, and sometimes muttering something. I suggested, “Ammaji, don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Mr. Sood will come as soon as he can.” Reluctantly, Ammaji agreed and took heavy steps upstairs.
A few minutes later she came down again and murmured, “Call and find out, Beta! Why hasn’t Mr. Sood come yet? What do doctors say? Is he okay? When will he come? I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”
After much convincing, when Ammaji did not leave the idea of making a call, I worked upon an idea. I dialed the phone and said, “Hello! Reception! good… good…! Tell me, how is Mr. Sood’s health now? Okay, he’ll come within an hour. Yes, yes, fine. Actually, his mother Ammaji is very worried. Alright, thank you!” After hanging up, I told Ammaji, “Ammaji, Mr. Sood is fine. No need to worry anymore. Rest assured, he will be coming within an hour.” Hearing my words, Ammaji’s face lit up with relief. She accepted my assurance with difficulty and went upstairs with heavy steps. As she left, she continued to bless me and my wife with gratitude.
A few days later, I informed Mr. Sood about everything. How Ammaji was gravely anxious about his health, how she insisted on calling the hospital repeatedly, and then how I worked upon an idea utilizing my insight. On hearing this, Mr. Sood smiled a little and said, “In front of a mother’s affection, all worldly relationships fade away. Lucky are those who are blessed with a mother’s love for a long time.”
Delvilla wasn’t just a place of scholarship, it was a canvas where life painted stories of human connection. Amma Ji’s tale, a testament to the timeless power of love and concern, remains engraved in my memory, a reminder of the warmth that transcends words and expressions.
Writer is Former Fellow, IIAS, Shimla (HP). He can be mailed at skraina123@gmail.com.
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